


On The Matter Of Cecil Palmer

by Cephy



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-30
Updated: 2014-03-30
Packaged: 2018-01-17 12:18:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1387339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cephy/pseuds/Cephy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Writing things out usually helps Carlos wrap his head around them. He's not so sure it's going to work in this case.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On The Matter Of Cecil Palmer

> On The Matter of Cecil Gershwin Palmer  
>  (A Discourse by Carlos ~~the Scientist~~ the Scientist)

 

Carlos frowned, looking from the page to his fingers and back again, playing back the last few keystrokes in his mind. He was certain that he hadn’t typed “the Scientist” that last time, even if he had somehow managed to do so the first. He was sure that he had, in fact, typed his actual last name. Briefly, he considered going back, striking the offending text through and trying yet again, but in the end he just sighed and went on.

Trying to correct it probably would have ended the same way, anyway; no matter how many times he tried to get the people of Night Vale to use his name, he always ended up back as “the Scientist”. He had mostly convinced himself it was a sign of affection.

The way his municipally-sanctioned, officially-permitted, sterling silver-and-dark-blue-velvet typewriter had an auto-correct function that included changing his name-- he still wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

 

> Cecil Palmer: most commonly just “Cecil”, called the Voice of Night Vale both colloquially and apparently as an official title (see: Night Vale Daily Journal highlights pamphlet, available at the public library every third Tuesday and at City Hall during lunar eclipses).
> 
> To understand Cecil, one really must look at the whole of Night Vale.

 

Carlos paused again, then sighed and rubbed at his eyes. The whole of Night Vale, yes, that was nice and vague. Also, incidentally, completely impossible. He couldn’t summarize everything that Night Vale was even if he wrote a thousand papers.

Specifics, Carlos. Facts. Start at the beginning.

 

> The first peculiarity that became apparent about Cecil, shortly after this author arrived in Night Vale, is that Cecil is apparently able to report on events happening simultaneously with his broadcast, without ever leaving the physical radio station and without significant input from agents in the field. This author is entirely certain that Cecil was not present at the town meeting that occurred shortly after the study team arrived, and yet a recording of that afternoon’s broadcast revealed that Cecil was detailing the presentation ~~and announcing his highly questionable affections~~ while the presenter himself was still behind the podium.
> 
> Further, Cecil's world-view tends to influence those around him, even beyond the effect that could be reasonably expected from people mimicking a very public local persona.  The adoption of Cecil’s terminology is often wide-spread, instantaneous, and persistent. For example, his way of referring to Mr. John Peters ~~, you know, the... oh my god~~ has been repeated to ~~me~~ this author by the majority of the local populace, with the same exact phrasing and intonation.
> 
> Perhaps more curious (and also somewhat suspicious, if one were to ~~ignore the fact that I’m really not sure Cecil would ever~~ listen to the more alarmist rumours circulated by one Mr. Steve Carlsburg) is how Cecil's infractions are not fully punished as are those of other citizens.  He has discussed **REDACTED** and **REDACTED** live on the air ~~come on how can a typewriter automatically redact text **THE CITY COUNCIL HEREBY ISSUES THE OPERATOR OF THIS TYPEWRITER A WARNING OF INFRACTION; ANY FURTHER ATTEMPTS TO TYPE WORDS ON THE DISAPPROVED LIST WILL RESULT IN INCARCERATION AND RE-EDUCATION** oh, fine.  Fine.~~   Cecil talks about things that really aren't supposed to be talked about, apparently, on a regular basis, and yet at most he gets a slap on the wrist and then shows up for work the next day, none the worse for wear.  ~~I mean, it's not that I~~ This author obviously does not wish him any harm, and is grateful that he's okay despite many occasions where he could have ended up otherwise, but there is obviously a double-standard at work and the reasons for it remain unclear.
> 
> This author has developed several theories as to why Cecil Palmer is such a singular figure, even among an entire city of singular figures, although none of them are supported by more than hunches and fairy tales and some are best not put to words on a municipally-approved device. **THE CITY COUNCIL APPRECIATES YOUR COOPERATION WITH ITS SELF-CENSORSHIP AND DENIAL PROGRAM** He lacks extra heads, or glowing eyes, or any number of features that make some of the other citizens of Night Vale stand out. He lacks the physical stature of, say, Rico of Big Rico’s Pizza, and yet Rico defers to him with what sometimes seems a kind of desperation.
> 
> (Side note: A possible explanation for Big Rico’s behaviour was provided by ~~Old Woman~~ Ms. Josie Parks during tea last week, by way of an anecdote concerning one time Big Rico's ran out of Cecil's favorite on “that one day when he just really wanted pizza, you know those days”.  The resulting disappointment engendered concentric circles of uncontrollable weeping interspersed with pockets of a “funky blue smell”.  The traffic jams were horrendous.  No one blames Cecil for the incident; the general consensus seems to be that Rico's should never have let themselves run out of pepperoni-stardust-extra-cheese on a Friday night. However, this author is not convinced that this incident is sufficient to warrant Rico’s behaviour, or even that this incident ever actually happened at all. Josie also once advised this author not to ever eat fish in July because, quote, “everyone knows that fish are supposed to be hibernating that time of year”.)
> 
> Cecil himself has stated that there is nothing extraordinary about him, usually with a little laugh and a dismissive wave of the hand. Cecil says a lot of things, which ~~I never quite know whether to believe~~ may or may not be true. ~~Like how he says he loves me, he keeps saying it and asking what I’m doing on the weekend, and I’m afraid that it’s working. That whatever influence he has is working on me, too, and that this odd, bemused affection I’m developing is not entirely my own, but how on earth could I ever prove~~

 

Taking a deep breath, Carlos lifted his hands from the keys and placed them gently down on the desk to either side.  He took another deep breath and, with an effort, did not let his head thump down onto the keys in their place.  Normally, writing things out helped him organize his thoughts, helped him take jumbled bits of data and piece them together into a cohesive whole, but that tactic was apparently not going to work this time.

Carlos was just starting to wonder whether to get a clean sheet of paper and start again, or get up and do something else entirely, or just sit there with his head in his hands and possibly laugh hysterically to himself for a while, when Miguel, their ecologist, poked his head in the door. There must have been something to Carlos’ expression, because Miguel paused before he spoke and visibly changed tactics. “Uh, boss? Everything okay?”

"Yes," Carlos sighed.  Then, firmer: "yes, thank you, I'm fine." 

"Well, good, because we just got a call from John Peters-- you know, the farmer?"

Carlos closed his eyes, breathed out slowly, and carefully folded his hands in his lap. “Yes? What did he say?”

“Something about a new type of weed that’s moved in to his invisible corn fields. Looks like a kind of mustard, but it’s completely intangible and apparently smells like bubble gum. I was going to go out and have a look, wondered if you were available to come along?”

One of the first rules that Carlos had set, once they really settled in to Night Vale and realized the endless possibility for things to go unexpectedly wrong, was that scientific exploration expeditions were always to be done via the buddy system. “Yeah, sure. Just let me grab the soil kit, I know Janet was looking to get some samples from the corn fields.”

Before he pushed back from the desk, Carlos reached out and hesitated over the typewriter key that would save his work. After a moment’s thought, he shook his head and got up, key unpressed; the faint crackle that followed him as he walked away was newly familiar. By the time he left the room, trailing after Miguel, Carlos’ ill-starred essay was just a layer of dust on the keyboard and a waft of faint, lavender-scented smoke on the air.

***

_Listeners, I don’t want to alarm any of you, but John Peters-- you know, the farmer? Has just summoned perfect Carlos and one of his scientists out to the farm to investigate a threat to our highly valued and just as highly government-funded invisible corn crop. Apparently he’s discovered some new plant trying to take over his fields. It should be fine, though, right? I mean, Carlos and his team are on the case. If anyone can figure out how to deal with an infestation of possibly trans-dimensional, corn-eating weeds, it’s them._

_Incidentally, Carlos’ classic white, serviceable lab coat looked rumpled today, and he seemed very tired. Listeners, I can’t stress enough the importance of getting a good night’s sleep, no matter how important your research is or how loudly the moon is howling on any particular evening. Insufficient sleep is known to be a contributing factor in most of our local car collisions, heart failures, and bloodstone circle ritual accidents, according to the Greater Night Vale Medical Community. Also, it seems to be making Carlos’ normally stunning complexion look kind of greyer than usual, which is a real shame._

_Now, I know what you’re all wondering, and that’s what could possibly be important enough to make our local head of scientific research lose sleep? And though I know the answer I’d like to be able to give you all, it is far more likely that dear Carlos is just getting lost once more in the twists and turns of scientific discovery, because despite my best efforts he has still not agreed to meet me for dinner, or for anything that might follow dinner, if you take my meaning._

_More on the invisible corn crisis, and on Carlos’ sleeping habits or lack thereof, as the stories develop. For now, a word from our sponsor…._

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, mostly I just wanted to make typewriter jokes. XD 
> 
> V. sad that I can't seem to get the font to change for the parts that are 'typed'...


End file.
